


I'll Take My Chances With You

by hellonik



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:55:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellonik/pseuds/hellonik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All things considered, it's less of a <i>chance</i> and more of an eventuality. Some things are inevitable - Chris and Darren are one of those things. </p><p>A contribution to the <a href="http://invisiblethreadproject.tumblr.com/tagged/itp-stories">Invisible Thread Project</a>. All of these stories are connected - I highly recommend reading them in order~</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Take My Chances With You

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: this was a communal effort. Deej, Trish, K, Yaya - angels, the lot of you. all of whom contributed in some vital way.  
> AU/Trope: lifelong best friends!AU
> 
> title is taken from - and the story contains references to - Blue Dress | Walk the Moon.

Chris is six when he meets Darren. One minute he’s alone and the next there’s a sweaty hand gripping his, a boy with curly, curly hair dragging him to the playground.

 

Darren’s currently demonstrating exactly how to hang upside down on the monkey-bars - climbing up and slipping through the rungs before letting his body fall, knees locked on a bar, locks of hair like coiled springs hanging straight down as he grins.

 

“See? Isn’t it the _coolest_?”

 

And before Chris can reply, someone’s shouting at Darren - _Darren Everett Criss get down from there right now before you break your neck_  - and Darren’s huffing and pouting and swinging down to his feet, zealously irritated.

 

“It’s _really_ cool,” Darren insists, arms crossed.

 

And Chris’s smile breaks open on his face, sudden and beaming like the smallest sun.

 

“It _is_ really cool.”

 

(From that point on, every story Chris tells is embarrassing or hilarious or just plain insane and they all start with Darren’s name and Chris’s blushing-red cheeks, smile wide and bashful.)

 

~

 

Chris is thirteen when his parents relocate. Darren cries, eyes huge and already glimmering with tears as Chris climbs into the car. Chris doesn’t, thirteen and stubborn and embarrassed - until they’re on the road and his mom puts her hand on the back of his neck and squeezes and says _baby_ , and then Chris cries and cries, the longest four hours of his entire life.

 

~

 

Chris is sixteen and realizing that he is very much gay. He’s sixteen and gay and hiding from his best friend like his life depends on it - never answers the phone, bolts to his room when he hears it ringing, and finally just gives up and tells his mom that he doesn’t want to talk to Darren because it’s easier if they just _don’t_.

 

(Darren wouldn’t _care_ , Chris knows this, he does, but he feels like a frightened rabbit skittering between the wheels of a car when he thinks about saying the words out loud, to the best person he knows, to the most important person in his life outside of family. And he would _have_ to tell him, he would, because Chris’s pinpointed loyal heart wrings honesty out of him like a twist-squeezed rag.)

 

The last year has just been hard. Hard and too heavy and sometimes Chris still hears Darren’s boisterous laugh in his head and it hurts like a phantom limb, leaves him feeling very small and very, very alone. Like he’s missing something _vital_. Everything is just _heavy_ and Chris’s bones are weak.

 

Darren calls - and calls and calls - but Chris is in knots with all this dense-boned dread and it makes him want to dig his heels in like a mule, even in the face of his mom’s sad eyes and the tone of her voice when she tells Darren that Chris can’t talk, won’t come to the phone. She stopped giving excuses for Chris at some point and Chris would be angrier about it if he didn’t feel so guilty all the time.

 

But Darren is persistent and shameless and he’s never met a wall he couldn’t joyfully, absently carve his way through - Chris, who’s stuck in a dustbowl town that forces ignorance down your throat like it’s a right of passage, is hyper-aware of the simple fact that Darren hasn’t met a person who he couldn’t thoughtlessly propel into a sort of patient, adoring indulgence, just with the sheer guilelessness of his sun-bright smile and too-big eyes. Darren doesn’t know the feeling of silent but pointed rejection - the small sharp twist of insignificance.

 

When Chris’s mom informs him that Darren’s threatening to spend every dollar he’s saved since he was eight for a genuine Gibson to come down there and force Chris to talk to him, he finds himself not only entirely unsurprised, but entirely annoyed. Chris huffs hard and glares and picks himself up with all the rage he can muster, ignores the way his mom looks quietly pleased.

 

Chris fervently resents the way Darren pulls love out of people like he has it connected at his fingertips - the way Darren loves people and people love him even when he’s obnoxious and loud and impatient and impulsive.

 

He doesn’t wait for Darren to speak, because, despite his frustration, he hasn’t heard Darren’s voice in what must be months and Chris feels, stupidly, like crying. “I really can’t deal with this right now.”

 

He can practically feel the strength of Darren’s scowl. “I love you but you’re being an asshole.”

 

Darren’s been cursing since he was 12 and the word falls off his lips too casually, exactly the way it always has.

 

“There’s a lot of crap going on in my life right now -”

 

“Yeah, dude, I know. If you’d let me _help_ -”

 

“I don’t want or need your _help_ , Darren - “

 

“Bullshit. I know you, Chris. Whatever it is that’s going on right now - I’m here. I’ve always been here. You can say that you want to deal with shit on your own all you want but you wouldn’t have to avoid me to do that if you actually _wanted_ to do it alone.”

 

Chris’s throat feels very, very tight. “This isn’t _about you_ \- not everything is about you.”

 

“Just let me be there for you, fuck - “

 

“ _Darren_.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “Do you really not want to talk to me? Like, at all?”

 

Chris feels everything in his stomach lurch and sink and _twist_ at the tone of Darren’s voice - quiet and cracking and just a little desperate and God, God, this is his best friend in the entire world, of course - of course he wants - _always_ -

 

“I always want to talk to you.” A very clear concession, all the fight taken right out of Chris.

 

Darren breathes out slowly and Chris listens to it crackle over the phone.

 

“Okay. Okay. We don’t have to actually talk about anything if you don’t want to. Just - stop avoiding me, man.”

 

Chris sighs quietly, something like relief rushing down his spine. “If this were any other person, this behavior would be unacceptable and probably warrant a restraining order. I want you to know that.”

 

Darren laughs, breaks open on it, and Chris wants to curl into himself and possibly never move.

 

“Yeah, but you’re you. My - whatever, my Chris, my best friend. What else was I going to do? And you love me, anyway.”

 

Chris rubs a hand over his mouth to hide his smile, exasperated and frustrated and deeply, enduringly fond.

 

“I’m going to start calling you mushroom.”

 

“If you say what I think you’re about to -”

 

“Because you’re like a fungus.”

 

Darren laughs loud enough that Chris has to pull the phone away from his ear, his own smile taking over his face the way he absolutely hates.

 

“I miss you, man. I wasn’t kidding - I _will_ go down there.”

 

“You’re an idiot. Don’t spend that money.”

 

“Tell me you miss me too.”

 

Chris smiles hard and sighs deeply, says, “I miss you too. Asshole.”

 

“ _Christopher Colfer,_ ” Darren gasps, over-dramatic and scandalized. “Did you just _curse_?”

 

Chris laughs so loud he has to muffle the phone, laughs through the abrupt weightlessness imbuing everything from his shoulders to his feet.

 

~

 

Darren is twenty-one and he and Chris are finally, finally living in the same city, and Darren feels like he’s saved every deep breath for the way he _breathes_ when he opens the door and sees Chris standing there. Chris, with his hands in his pockets and head cocked to the side, bright galaxy eyes and sweet tilt of a smile - still the one person who knocks Darren from cloud to floor to cloud again, a very particular vertigo just for Chris.

 

~

 

Darren is twenty-two and oblivious in very distinct ways - knows the way Chris makes him go light from toe to sternum, but still so very, very unaware of the direction his heart surges.

 

~

 

Chris is twenty and digging through a curio cabinet overwhelmingly replete with jewelry - the musty, cluttered thriftshop it resides in has several of them, and Chris doesn’t know how anyone is ever able to find _anything_.

 

He’s still there fifteen minutes later, fingering an eilat-green ring, flat-banded and slightly heavy like it’s actually carved from stone, when Darren finds him.

 

“Whatcha’ got?” Darren asks, arms slipping around Chris from behind, chin hooking over his shoulder. Chris feels himself shift back automatically, into the circle of Darren’s arms, the curve of his body, and he’s positively _vicious_ about fighting down the flush trying to climb up his neck.

 

“Just a ring. I don’t know. It’s too big for me but I thought you’d like it.”

 

Chris turns in Darren’s arms, breathes very, very measured - trapped there by his thoughtless, idiot best friend, whose habit of catching and holding Chris’s gaze is enough to make him _squirm_ , heart sticking to his ribs. Darren’s eyes are very bright and he has a personal vendetta against personal space and the world is cruel. Chris’s breaths are very, very measured.

 

Chris thinks, _your eyes will sometimes match this ring_ , and sort of hates himself for it.

 

“Yeah?” Darren’s voice is quiet and he’s smiling a little soft and a little pleased, head tilted.

 

Chris clears his throat but his voice still comes out cracking high. “Yes.”

 

Darren hums low in his throat, smile stretching slow and going bright, plucks the ring from Chris’s hand and turns on his heel.

 

“Hop to, Colfer. We have a whole block of stores to get through.”

 

Darren’s wearing the ring before he even pays for it and Chris finds his gaze snagged by the sight of it on Darren’s finger too often for Darren not to notice - he never takes it off.

 

He was right, anyway. It sometimes matches Darren’s eyes.

 

~

 

Chris is twenty-one and letting Darren ply him with too many shots of tequila.

 

“It’s your birthday! One more!” Darren is hazy-eyed and drunk and only slurring minutely, which Chris thinks is supremely unfair because words feel too round on his tongue when he tries to say them out loud.

 

Darren leans in close, presses a hot hand to the back of Chris’s neck, the cool press of his ring making shivers rush down Chris’s spine. Darren’s smile is bright and boyish and playful, altogether too compelling - Chris takes the shot, lets Darren push the lemon wedge into his mouth, acutely aware of the way Darren’s half-lidded alcohol-blown eyes track him.

 

It’s cold when they leave the bar, three am and still loud and Chris is laughing, leaning into Darren because it’s probably the only thing keeping him on his feet.

 

“Oh, baby, you are going to feel so much fucking regret tomorrow morning.”

 

Chris laughs harder. “ _You - you_ were the one with the - with the shots.”

 

Darren grins with all his teeth.

 

“It’s your birthday!”

 

“I don’t think that - that’s not a passable excuse anymore.”

 

Darren tucks him close to his side while they stand on the curb, waiting for Joey to bring the car around.

 

“I stole a mug for you, the least you can do is let me get you raucously drunk on your twenty-first birthday, Colfer.”

 

Chris lets his head drop onto Darren’s shoulder. “You did not - you did _not_ steal anything for me.”

 

Darren laughs, hand going from Chris’s waist to his hair.

 

“Except I so fucking did,” he’s saying, just as Joey pulls up with the car.

 

Darren climbs into the backseat with Chris and roots around on the floor before coming up with a navy blue mug that says _Trust me, I’m a nurse_ in white block letters.

 

Chris laughs hard, deliriously delighted, says, breathless, “I can’t believe you really stole it! I wasn’t being serious!”

 

They’d randomly stopped at some kitschy little shop sometime between the fourth bar and the last and Chris had begged Darren to steal something for him, had insisted that it wasn’t a real birthday celebration unless laws were broken. Chris has no idea how he didn’t notice him _actually stealing it._

 

Darren shrugs, loose and lazy, casually smug. “You said you wanted something to remember the night and as your best friend, it’s my duty to provide that. It was either steal the mug or do a strip tease at the bar and let you film it for posterity.”

 

“I vote for both,” Joey pipes up immediately, and it sets Chris off all over again.

 

“Shit, we are definitely getting some food in you before we go home,” Darren laughs, and Chris can feel Darren’s eyes on him, and Chris thinks that the entire world feels soft-yellow like mid-morning sunlight.

 

They get home at six in the morning and Chris puts the mug on Darren’s nightstand right before they end up passing out on Darren’s bed, fully clothed and curled in close together. Darren’s hand finds it’s way to Chris’s hair and Chris shoves his cold hands beneath Darren’s t-shirt, resting on his belly.

 

“You’re so warm - you’re like a _furnace_ , God.” Chris sighs, shuffling forward until he’s as close as he can get.

 

Darren laughs, a low, raw sound, tired and easy. “Go to sleep, birthday boy.”

 

Chris hums quietly, dizzy even with his eyes closed. “I love you.”

 

Darren’s hand tightens into a gentle tug, voice a soft rasp, “Love you too.”

 

“Love _tequila_ ,” Chris slurs, already half asleep.

 

Darren’s quiet laugh follows him down down down into sleep, the sway of his dreams.

 

~

 

Darren is twenty-three and nothing twists him so tight from head to toe, heart to stomach, as the way Chris goes pliant underneath him, pale and lithe and slick with sweat, blushing red all the way down. All he wants is Chris and the way their bodies fit together, the way Chris says his name. The way Chris’s eyes glow like a cat’s when he looks at him, the red smear of his up-turned mouth. The way Chris opens his locked-tight heart for him.

 

~

 

Darren is twenty-four and has spent the last year working hard on his music and fumbling his way through a relationship with a boy that he’s known too long and too well. Sometimes he’s convinced that something vital is gone from his chest - that he’d given it to Chris when he was eight and putting all his effort into getting the small pale boy with the bright eyes to smile.

 

Chris collapses next to him on the couch, groans, “Why am I a writer? Darren, why would you let me do this?”

 

Darren laughs and kisses his temple. “It’s cute that you like to pretend you actually listen to other people when you have your mind set on something.”

 

Chris glares half-heartedly. “Don’t be an asshole. I’m deeply aggrieved by my life choices right now.”

 

“Baby, I’m always an asshole,” Darren says, sotto voice.

 

Chris’s hands fly up and he says, “You’ve finally accepted it!” And then falls into a laughing fit and drags Darren down with him and Darren is love love love all the way through to his bones.

 

~

 

Chris is twenty-three and sometimes he looks at Darren and is so abruptly aware of the hand Darren has in every part of his life, so aware of the way Darren’s a constant. A steady, easy, always-always-always - his pinpoint loyal heart wrings itself around his ribs for Darren.

 

Chris is somewhat mortified about it, about the way his lungs snag tight sometimes, when he looks at Darren and the world goes gauzy-edged and he just has to _laugh_ , nothing else for it, that’s all there is, joy bubbling out of his throat. Chris is entirely grateful for the way Darren’s eyes go big like he’s carrying his entire heart in them whenever he looks at Chris - thinks, _at least it’s not just me._

 

~

 

Darren is twenty-six and it’s fourth of July. The sun has long since set but the air still hangs heavy with heat. He’s at _someone’s_ house, the pool stretching out mirror-blue in front of him, and he’s fully-clothed but still considering stripping out of his shirt and shorts and jumping in anyway when a body settles in next to his against the wall. He lolls his head to the side and can’t help the silly grin he can feel spill across his face - Chris, half-drunk and red-mouthed and flushed and entirely, entirely the best thing Darren’s ever seen.

 

“You can’t jump into the pool because you didn’t bring an extra pair of boxers and I refuse to sit through the rest of this party with you when you’re going commando. I’ve had tequila - you can’t ask me for that kind of restraint.”

 

Daren blinks, laughs, breaking loose on it - beautiful, beautiful, Chris is the most beautiful thing in his life.

 

“Okay, Chris.”

 

Chris nods, satisfied, and his mouth is stretched into this mindless half-grin that doesn’t fade, and Darren just - can’t help it, really can’t, slips in front of him and slides a hand up to his neck, thumb pressing into the hinge of his jaw, until Chris’s mouth drops open and Darren shifts forward, presses his lips to Chris’s, takes his open mouth into a slow easy kiss that Chris melts into like his limbs are twined with a string that only Darren can cut.

 

Darren pulls away slowly, stays close just to the feel the hitch in Chris’s breath when he breathes.

 

“Go somewhere with me?”

 

Chris blinks, hazy-eyed and uncharacteristically open, one of his hands tangled in Darren’s hair and the other fisting Darren’s t-shirt, and he’s so fucking sweet like this, Jesus, Jesus, Darren’s bones itch with it. He wants to tuck Chris in close, wants to devour the burning citrus taste from his mouth, lure out the easy liquid-limbed pliance of his body - Darren can’t deal with the way Chris makes him feel sometimes, not out in the open like this, can’t deal with the forced-stillness of it, the way he can’t act on it, not really.

 

“Go somewhere with me.” Darren repeats, voice low and quiet, lips brushing Chris’s. Chris grins, eyes lowered and his hand opens, presses firm against Darren’s lower stomach.

 

“Okay.”

 

Chris can’t drive but Darren can, and so he does - he has a vague idea of where he wants to go - he wants them out, he wants them out in the open night air with the sky exploding above them while he kisses Chris beneath it. He wants the world to feel just as big as it is.

 

Darren takes them to a drive-in theater, because he knows Chris has never gone, and it’s dark and loud and intimate all at once - everything Darren finds appealing with this restless energy sparking up his spine. And, God, the way Chris looks at him when they pull in, bright starburst eyes and that sweet fucking smile - Darren should be worried about the things he’d do to keep that smile on Chris’s face. He’s already committed theft for it, evidenced by the half-full bottle of tequila he can hear rolling around the floor of his backseat, filched as they ran out the door.

 

Darren parks and they end up in the open trunk with a blanket, Chris practically in his lap because it’s such a tight squeeze. Darren’s legs are crossed, completely inside the trunk, Chris leaning back on him, legs hanging over the edge. Darren fucking loves the drive-in - loves that it feels like a throwback, that it always will - loves the big screens and the way the movie sounds like it’s coming from everywhere, with the way everyone turns the volume of their radio all the way up.

 

They only get half-way through the movie before fireworks start going off - Darren’s been waiting for it, is endlessly delighted by it. He ignores the movie, leaning back to watch the ink-black sky get stained with color all around them instead.

 

Darren glances down to where Chris’s head rests on his shoulder, tipped back, eyes going up to watch the fireworks, tequila bottle dangling from his fingertips. Darren’s smile widens, kisses Chris’s neck and breathes in deep, and then his tequila-sharp red-wet-open mouth, listens to the sky exploding above them, cracking so loud Darren could swear the air ripples around them while he chases the taste on Chris’s tongue.

 

~

 

Chris is twenty-four and Darren’s hands burn heavy-hot into his skin - his neck, his arms, his ribs, his thighs - Darren’s touch coaxes heat all the way down to the marrow of his bones, shivering and raw and warm warm warm.

 

 _Everything_ is warm, middle of Summer and a broken air conditioner, sunlight spilling into every corner of the room - it’s a _sauna_ and Chris has never luxuriated in it more, with Darren’s teeth biting into his jaw, the weight of him pressing him into the bed.

 

Chris arches, gasps on a laugh, because Darren’s still humming along to the music - _and if you’d like to blow your mind we could listen to the White album_ \- and he can feel Darren’s smile against the sweat-slicked skin of his neck.

 

Chris thinks, sometimes, that Darren feels like orbit - like his life is built for him, or around him, with him at the core of it. Chris doesn’t know who else could get him here - on his back, dropping his shoulders and baring his neck and letting his heart beat like a drum in his chest. Darren’s touch, the way he laughs with his whole body, the way he smiles - Chris’s entire world feels washed in sunlight.

 

Darren lifts his head, breathes out slow and kisses Chris slower - deep and easy, tongue against the roof of Chris’s mouth and teeth nipping at his lips.

 

Chris feels his heart beat like a drum, love singing through his veins, his spine, and the whole of the world feels honey-slow and heat-wave rippling.

~

(Darren’s eyes are love-big and Chris kisses him, has to kiss him, sighs into his mouth and says, “I love you.” Thinks, _you make things bright_ , while Darren smiles sweet and blinks slow.

  
“I _fucking_ love you,” Darren says, grin going impish, all dark-eyed avidity and too-enthralling boyishness, and Chris laughs, feels weightless and lit all the way down, interlocks their sweaty hands and squeezes squeezes squeezes, all the way down.)

~


End file.
